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Adapted from Luke 10, NRSV.
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. ‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’ He answered, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.’ And he said to him, ‘You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.’
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was driving down from Tempe to Flagstaff, and fell into the hands of a militia, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a pastor was driving in his Cadillac down that road; and when he saw him, he switched lanes and passed by. So likewise a businessman, when he drove through the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But an undocumented Mexican while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having cleaned them with soap and water. Then he helped him up, brought him to a hotel, and took care of him. The next day he took out what little money he had and gave it to to the hotel manager, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.” Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the militia?’ He said, ‘The one who showed him mercy.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise.’
[See also: "Arizona and the Least of These"]
In doing some “research” (i.e., reading Wikipedia) for the series on creeds that I’ve been writing, I stumbled across a rather interesting document, the existence of which I had completely forgotten about. It’s called “the American’s creed”, written by William Tyler Page and adopted by Congress in 1918. It reads thusly:
I believe in the United States of America, as a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a sovereign Nation of many sovereign States; a perfect union, one and inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality, justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes.
I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies.
Interestingly, this creed for the state religion of nationalism is reminiscent of the classic statement of Christian religion, the Nicene Creed. The phrase “of the people, by the people, for the people” is almost Trinitarian in its import; the language of “a democracy in a republic”, of “a sovereign Nation of many sovereign States”, and of “a perfect union, one and inseparable”, calls to mind the Nicene and Chalcedonian rhetoric of the ontology in the Trinity and of the person of Christ.
The explicit and intentional creedal form of the statement drives home the way that state nationalism can compete with Christian faith and identity in the Church. And indeed, though Page undoubtedly did not recognize this conflict of kingdoms, he himself did speak of the creed he had written in unabashedly religious terms. As he said: “The American’s Creed is a summing up, in one hundred words, of the basic principles of American political faith. … It is a summary of the fundamental principles of American political faith as set forth in its greatest documents, its worthiest traditions and by its greatest leaders.” Of course, an exactly analogous statement could be made about the Nicene Creed as it was intended to be understood: “The Nicene Creed is a summing up, in a few hundred words, of the basic principles of trinitarian Christian faith. … It is a summary of the fundamental principles of Christian faith as set forth in its greatest Scriptures, its worthiest traditions and by its greatest apostles and teachers.”
This creed goes beyond the philosophical, moving swiftly from the abstract principles of sovereignty and union into the apparent ethical imperatives of American citizenship. (Ethics is something that the classical Christian creeds, unfortunately, do not touch on.) The American’s Creed declares that the moral system by which Americans should order their lives is grounded in several duties, each of which has a parallel, but contrasting, analogue in Christian theology: love of country (love of God and neighbor), support of Constitution (reading of Scripture), obedience to law (living in grace), respect for flag (identification with the Cross), and defense against national enemies (praying for our enemies and blessing those who persecute us). Thus, the creed unifies in one document both an abstract set of philosophical beliefs that are representative of American nationalism’s “orthodoxy”, but also, and much more potently, a set of ethical guidelines assumed to be normative for citizens in their daily routine. In so doing, the American’s Creed arguably (and disturbingly) makes even broader claims upon personal identity and lifestyle than do the classical Christian creeds.
Though the Creed itself is not particularly well-known in the modern United States, the ideas it expresses are formative for much of the American community, just as the ideas expressed by the classical Christian creeds are formative for much of the Christian community (even in those churches that do not regularly recite them). If it is true, as Marshall McLuhan writes, that “the medium is a message”, then the import of the American’s Creed is significant indeed. The medium is a religious one, as is, therefore, the message: and thus the American’s Creed exemplifies the way that American nationalism has become a functional religion in its own right, in competition with Christian faith.
In America, today is the day we celebrate a war fought over having to pay too much for our tea.
Independence Day is one of the most important holidays in America’s national religion. As a Christian living in America, I find that today is particularly difficult in terms of evaluating the interplay of conflicting identities, competing communities, and contradictory allegiances.
So instead of using July 4th to speculate on what would have happened if the Revolution had been nonviolent, or musing on the identity of Christians in the kingdoms of the world, or offering prayers for nation and nation’s enemy alike, I’d like to declare independence.
As an American Christian, I declare independence from the mindset that the two adjectives are one and the same. I declare independence from the willful blindness that, in the name of a false patriotism, refuses to acknowledge America’s sins and sees no need to seek reconciliation. I declare independence from the assumption that America is always benevolent, knowing that all Powers are fallen, just as all people are fallen. I declare independence from the arrogance of that part of American Christianity that has sought to make the world in its image. I declare independence from Americans who use Christianity to justify, hatred, intolerance, and unjust war.
But today, on Independence Day, I do more than declare independence. I also declare solidarity.
As an American Christian, I declare solidarity with those who seek to navigate the complexity of multiple allegiances and conflicting identities. I declare solidarity with the effort to seek truth and create reconciliation in evaluating this country’s history. I declare solidarity with those who prophetically seek justice and peace in a self-righteous environment. I declare solidarity with all who humbly seek to gain from others, of all ethnicities, religions, nations, and classes. I declare solidarity with all who do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with their God: Christians and non-Christians alike, from America and from everywhere else.
Robert Jensen (not to be confused with Robert Jenson) is a journalism professor at the University of Texas in Austin. His most recent book, All My Bones Shake, is a departure from his previous works: it is a book of political theology, whereas most of his previous works have been on more secular topics. He writes now explicitly as a layperson rather than an expert, bringing a fresh perspective to divisive and complicated issues.
Subtitled “Seeking a Progressive Path to the Prophetic Voice”, All My Bones Shake presents a new approach to the integration of faith and public life. Jensen has a unique perspective, having been an outsider to the Church for much of his life. The book is very thought-provoking, containing a diversity of valuable insights and intriguing analysis. Much could be discussed in a review of the book, but I want to focus primarily on two aspects: Jensen’s unconventional theology, and his fascinating analysis of fundamentalism.
1. The Nature of Jensen’s Personal Faith
Jensen is a member of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Austin, Texas. He joined the church after being asked to preach on social justice issues (despite identifying as an atheist at the time). He found the liturgical recitation of the Lord’s prayer to be incredibly moving, and he writes that he left the church that day “not with a new set of beliefs but with a new experience” (29). Soon thereafter, he decided to join St. Andrew’s. He didn’t believe in God, but in a very real sense he believed in the Church and embraced the principles of Christ’s message. He no longer describes himself as an atheist, though he still doesn’t believe in God in the traditional sense.
On God, Jensen writes: “I believe God is a name we give to the mystery of the world that is beyond our capacity to understand.” He writes also that “Christ offered a way into that mystery that still has meaning today” (47). This is clearly a less-than-traditional approach to the divine, and frankly I am not sure what to make of it. The idea of “‘God’-as-name-for-mystery” is intriguing, if not convincing, and I pray that for Jensen it reveals God’s reality in a way that he can understand and relate to.
I disagree with several major aspects of Jensen’s theology: his rejection of the physical Resurrection, his depersonalization of God, and his emphasis on finding the internal strength to struggle rather than falling on God’s provision in faith. But I find his willingness to engage the truth of Jesus Christ compelling, even if it has led him to conclusions that I do not share. He seems genuinely to be striving to follow Christ, whether or not he believes all of what others might consider to be the “right ideas” about him. This is admirable.
2. Jensen’s Analysis of Fundamentalism
Jensen sees fundamentalism as one of the primary forces for evil in the world. But he doesn’t just stop at the traditional analysis of “fundamentalism = religious loony”. Instead, Jensen diagnoses four distinct types of fundamentalism: religious, nationalistic, economic, and technological. Recognizing that religious fundamentalism has already been well critiqued and analyzed, Jensen largely passes over it in his discussion.
His treatment of “nationalistic fundamentalism” focuses, as it inevitably must, on America. In Chomskyan style, Jensen strips away the emperor’s clothes of benevolent intervention, recognizing the inherent imperialism and oppression that lie beneath much of united states foreign policy. Rightly criticizing the “pathological hyperpatriotism that tends to suppress internal dissent” and that is often obligatory for well-behaved u.s. citizens, Jensen advocates instead that we “celebrate out connections to real people in our lives while also declaring a commitment to universal principles that are not rooted in any particular nation-state” (109-10). A compelling vision indeed, and one that is much needed in America today.
The third variety of fundamentalism criticized is economic or market fundamentalism, wherein “the naturalness of capitalism is now taken to be beyond question” and corporate capitalism is viewed as “the only sane and rational way to organize an economy in the contemporary world” (112). Indeed, the “widening gap between rich and poor” attests to the failure of capitalism to provide prosperity for more than the very few; this has been well-documented in other texts, and is a subject that I have only recently become interested in (and in regards to which my formerly libertarian views have been radically shifting).
The final fundamentalism Jensen addresses is technological fundamentalism. He describes this as the belief that “the increasing use of evermore sophisticated high-energy, advanced technology is always a good thing and that any problems caused by the unintended consequences of such technology eventually can be remedied by more technology” (116). Pointing to widespread ecological degradation of the last century, he argues that faith in technology to solve our problems will inevitably lead to further destruction. This is the section about which I am most uncertain; I have always been of the opinion that technological and scientific advancement eventually bring about widespread benefits. I especially am uncomfortable with his dismissal of the worth of the space program, and his idea that humanity has “no business” exploring “the atom and the cell” (118). Nevertheless, Jensen makes valid and thought-provoking criticism of humanistic hubris and technological arrogance, and his ideas certainly merit further discussion.
Concluding thoughts
Though the book as a whole is organized around an entirely different set of themes, the twin pillars of unique theology and anti-fundamentalism are key to his overall vision. Jensen offers a way of approaching religious concepts that engages them with the goals of truth-seeking and justice-action. These twin purposes must be central to our theological and spiritual lives, even though we may differ on many details (as Jensen and I do).
There is much more to the book than what I have written about. All of it is intriguing; much of it is controversial; none of it is conventional. I would highly recommend it to anyone who is willing to consider his ideas thoughtfully, as challenging to American Christian orthodoxy as they are.
Properly understood, the Church functions as a community that:
- Embodies an alternative ethics of nonviolence and transformation, rather than violence and destruction. We overcome evil through good. (Matthew 5.38ff; Luke 6.27ff; Romans 12.14ff)
- Embodies an alternative identity and allegiance in a Kingdom that is not of this world but is present in it. We act as witness to and dissident from Empire and Nation-State. (John 18.36; Luke 17.20f)
- Embodies an alternative economics of generosity rather than greed, of Jubilee rather than exploitation. We give freely and forgive debts as ours have been forgiven. (Matthew 6.19; Luke 4.19; Acts 2.44ff)
Each of these aspects of the Kingdom of Heaven, to which the Church is witness, requires hard commitment and flies in the face of “conventional wisdom” and cultural norms (especially in America). Christianity in this form becomes, ironically, more difficult to live out in societies where Christian rhetoric and nominal institutional membership are normative — i.e., in large countries with a “Judeo-Christian Tradition” or societies where the majority of citizens attend church. This paradox arises because in these situations Christian religion is appropriated by the State, compromising its essential pacifism (and, in individualist-capitalist societies, often its economic/social aspects as well).
Thus for the Christian who aspires to restore the Church to a model like that advocated here, “separation of church and state” is central — not to protect government from undue religious influence, but to allow the Church to maintian its integrity as a witness to the dominant order.
